Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2) (70 page)

He frowned and he glanced around like he was trying to figure out just where I thought he'd gone off to. "What do you mean?"

As soon as those words left his lips, his eyes widened with sharp awareness. It was right on the tip of my tongue to reassure him, but what was I supposed to say?
Sorry, honey. I thought you deserted me again. My bad.

Suddenly, his hands were shoving the soda and the pretzels inside my huge purse. A moment later, his strong arms enveloped my shoulders and crushed me to his chest. His lips were in my hair, on my forehead, brushing my cheek, and finally my lips before I even had a moment to catch my breath. That was all the reassurance I needed.

Our heads jerked up at the announcement over the intercom: "Now boarding United Airlines flight 1311 to New York City."

Caleb's eyes found mine and his lips curled up. He leaned down to kiss me and murmured against my lips, "Let's go."

All I could do was follow his lead. He grabbed my hand and led me over to the waiting area so we could get our carry-ons. The rest of it seemed to happen in slow motion: the attendant scanned our tickets, we walked through the gate, stepped onto the plane, and found our seats. It was really that easy.

It wasn't until the plane hit the runway that I felt Caleb squeeze my hand from the seat next to me. My eyes immediately snapped to find his head pushed back against the seat with his eyes closed as the plane's engine roared to life.

"Iz," he mumbled above the sounds of the plane gearing up for take-off. "Tell me it's okay."

My lips parted and it took me a second to grasp the full weight of what he was asking me. He needed permission to leave. He needed reassurance that he'd made the right choice. And he needed it from me.

I leaned to my right until my head rested against his shoulder so he could hear me clearly. He'd been so strong up until now and I needed to carry him home.

"It's okay," I whispered as the plane shuddered, lifting us into the air and sending us soaring into the night sky.

Caleb finally opened his eyes and I gestured to the window. There wasn't much to see just yet, but even in the darkness, the entire landscape seemed to fade away. The trees, the highways, the houses, the open parking lots, all of it dimmed as we finally left North Carolina behind until only the city lights blinked up at us.

"Hey," I hummed into his shoulder. "I've been thinking and I think we should take the money we get from my dad's house and put it into the shop."

His head snapped to the side, eyes wide with surprise. "What?"

"You heard me," I laughed.

Caleb's eyebrows lifted high into his forehead. "That's an awfully big decision to make without talking to me about it first, don't you think?"

"What do you mean? We
are
talking."

His lips quirked in amusement and he kissed my forehead. "You sure?"

"I think it's a pretty good investment—my dad would agree. Besides, it's your money too, Caleb. Compromise, right?"

"Right," he smiled into my hair.

We watched the North Carolina landscape drift further and further away until I heard Caleb singing softly and completely off-key.

"
Start spreading the news
...
I'm leaving today
."

A laugh erupted from my throat and I ran a hand over my face.

"Oh God," I muttered. "Not this again."

He just lifted a shoulder and waggled his eyebrows at me. "
I want to be a part of it, New York, New York."

"Stop," I laughed. "Seriously. You're embarrassing me."

Caleb's eyes flashed evilly.
"These vagabond shoes..."
he bumped my shoulder, "come on, Iz, you know the words."

"Shut it."

Now he rocked a little to the music in his head. "
I want to wake up in a city that doesn't sleep."

"I swear to God I'm going to smother you with a pillow when we get home."

His lips brushed my forehead and he laughed against my skin. I just couldn't help myself. I leaned into him, letting my chin rest on his shoulder and smiling as he kept right on singing softly in my ear.

"
These little town blues are melting away..."

.
     
.
     
.

Wallace slumped to the floor in a bloody heap and hell followed.

There was no time to react, no time for Dom to even raise his Glock to Wallace's VP because the barrel of another gun leveled right at him. An explosion rang in his ears and heat shot through his right shoulder. He crumbled to the sticky floor, already wet with Wallace's blood, and he closed his eyes to the cacophony of roaring gun blasts, shattering glass, and screaming bouncing off the bar's walls.

Air whooshed around him as a body collapsed just inches away from him. Dom turned to find Marcus's lifeless black eyes staring back at him, blood gaping from the hole in his head. Shock and horror stunned his limbs, kept him locked in place on the floor as the bullets whizzed through the room. More shouts. More cries for help. More blood splatter. More limbs and bodies falling to the floor.

Finally, Dom managed to roll onto his side, where he came face-to-face with the man he'd just murdered in cold blood. Doc dropped to his knees, covering the pooling wound in his chest until he fell face-down at Dom's feet. Another Warlord cut fell to the floor. Dom turned his head as the sound of sirens blaring echoed from the front door and just grew louder with every thundering beat of his heart.

He somehow crouched onto all fours just in time to witness Eli and another Warlord cut trade bullets to the stomach. His wet fingers groped for a gun, any gun, and when he finally found one, he snapped it to his right, firing aimlessly into the abyss of bullets and blood. Smoke fogged the space above him, but he continued to fire until the gun clicked, empty and useless.

Dom tossed the gun aside and grabbed the first bar stool he could find for cover, but he was too late. Fire exploded in his foot, his side, and his left shoulder. Agony split his body in two as he tumbled back down to the floor, slipping and sliding around the glass and puddles of crimson.

Somewhere above him, there was shouting. More gunfire. More explosions.

ZZ's body lay slumped over a table, right next to the Warlord he'd just killed. Casey crawled toward the front door with one arm—the rest of him covered in blood from the waist down. His bleary eyes scanned the room for any Horsemen cuts, but all he could see was red. All he could hear was screaming.

Was that his voice? Was it someone else's?

Suddenly, light poured in through the front door and shouts echoed from the back hallway.

"Hands up!" a voice boomed from behind him. "Weapons down or we'll fire!"

What was the point? Was anyone else even alive?

Hands groped his neck to check for a pulse and he choked, mumbling incoherently and numb with agony. It was too much. Too much blood. Too many bullets.

Suddenly he was suspended in the air, settling back on something soft and cool, a stark contrast from all this heat.

Then consciousness reared its ugly head. All he could think was, as he was rolled out into the parking lot on a gurney and lifted into an ambulance, that this was the last time he'd ever see the sky as a free man.

It was a really shitty night, too. The city air clouded the sky, hiding all the stars he desperately wanted to see one last time.

As the ambulance doors shut, all he could see was Lexie. Chloe.
This
was the consequence.
This
was the price.

Everyone was gone now. The life he'd known. The family he'd tried and failed to protect, to avenge. Everything that mattered had been taken from him in a fiery string of bullets.

He'd done this.

He'd brought this on himself.

There was no comfort here. No absolution. Now that it was over, he wished he could go back to the moment where he'd had a choice so he could make a different one.

But now, that moment was gone too.

.
     
.
     
.

Isabelle

I opened the cab door and slid out, finally putting my feet on solid ground, finally in front of my brownstone. With its rows of polished windows, high planes and arches, and age-washed brick, it really was a sight for sore eyes. I'd forgotten how much I'd missed this place and how much I loved it until it was right in front of me again.

The cab door slammed behind me as Cooper hobbled around the side and limped up the steps, waiting for us at the top as if to say,
Come on, guys. You're literally killing me here.

A low chuckle echoed around me and I turned to find Caleb with his head ducked under the passenger side window as he handed the driver some bills. Nerves shook through me as Caleb slung his bag over his shoulder with one hand and gripped the handle of Cooper's empty crate with the other. His eyes lifted to my building and they widened, awestruck at the sight before him.

His lips parted and his chest heaved.

I knew what he was thinking. It was written all over his handsome face, the same face I'd get to wake up to every morning and fall asleep with every night.

Nothing about our lives together had played out the way we'd planned—not even this move to New York—and that was okay. We still made it. Finally.

I wasn't so sure I believed in things like destiny and fate, but I felt the weight of them now as the inevitable enveloped me and held me close. This was where I was always supposed to be. Right here, with this man, in this city.

I climbed a few steps, ready to reach for the rest of my life.

"Hey," I smiled at him from over my shoulder and gestured with my head to the front door. "You wanna do this or what?"

Caleb's lips curved up into that crooked grin I knew so well and nodded. Then he jumped up the stairs and followed me inside.

EPILOGUE

Three Years Later

Caleb

I glanced at the stack of paperwork from over my laptop and sighed. Well, I could stay a little bit longer and finish going through the damn things or I could say screw it, go home, and take care of it on Monday. I blew out a deep breath, mentally ticking through all the work I still needed to do: ordering supplies, finishing up payroll for the month, tweaking next week's schedule, and calling the buyer for some new equipment I had my eye on. My eyes darted to the wall right next to my desk and my lips lifted at the sight.

Bright, vivid colors splashed the wall as the images came into clearer focus. I dragged my gaze from one to the next: a few round circles with dog ears scribbled with black crayon, some green trees, a few that were just colorful scribbles, a yellow sun shooting out rays, three stick figures, then another one with four stick figures.

Screw it.

I was going home.

Getting ready to leave didn't take long—I shut my laptop, filed the few forms I'd managed to finish today, grabbed my coat, and locked my office behind me.

"Finally heading out, huh?"

I glanced over my shoulder and shrugged. It was getting easier and easier to leave early and I didn't feel guilty about it at all.

"Don't worry, boss," Saul laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "I'll hold down the fort for the rest of the day."

"Aw, come on," I shook my head, rolling my eyes up to the ceiling. "I'm leaving an hour early. Not a big deal."

He shifted his weight a little and shuffled toward the front office of the shop with that familiar double-limp hobble. After two surgeries and months of physical therapy, Saul wasn't exactly back to his old self, at least not physically, but everything was still a work in progress. Just like the shop.

Now Saul practically pushed me out the door and laughed in my face.

"Go on now," he half-ordered, half-chuckled. "Get outta here. I mean it. I don't want to see your face in here all weekend, you hear?"

I mock-saluted him as I shrugged on my coat. "Got it."

A few of my guys threw a wave my way, some of the others called out to me to enjoy my time off, and the rest were too busy finishing up their projects for the day to notice me sneaking out early—just the way I liked it.

Heading outside, I zipped up my coat and shoved my hands in my pockets to keep warm just in time to catch myself from slipping and falling right on my ass.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath and pounded out a quick, frustrated text to Saul to let him know somebody needed to get out here with a shovel and some salt before someone hurt themselves.

Once I had my bearings again, I set off down the street to start my four-block trek home with fat snowflakes floating down from the sky and coating my shoulders. It had been pretty damn cold here earlier this week, but today, the cold was tolerable. That was probably the biggest adjustment for me: the bitter, snowy New York winters.

The first time I ever saw a foot of snow piled outside our door, I just about shit my pants. Not to mention the fact that even though I had a truck for the shop, driving in snow and walking around in snow were two very different things. Or the fact that I could only ride my bike about six months out of the year if I was lucky...yet another adjustment.